Getting Somewhere

You are a boy of ten again. You are on the bus, and the trees seem to be going faster than the bus you are seated in. You are on the Kampala–Masaka Highway. You cannot wait to reach Kampala as it will be your first time there. The excitement darts through your body like grasshoppers jumping from grass blade to grass blade. You keep standing to catch a glimpse of the speeding trees, and then sitting down heavily onto your mother’s lap as if you are falling into a chair padded with cushions. “But Vincent, why don’t you settle down?! You will even break my bones! Now see...” Your mother points down to the heavy lemon green sash of her gomesi. Its tassels are trailing on the bus floor, covered in red soil. “You see how you have dirtied my musiipi? You know gomesis are very hard to clean!” You look at her attire covered in bright greens, blues and oranges. Mzee bought it for her last Christmas. It is the newest of all her attires and that is why she has chosen to wear it for the journey to the big city. “Sorry Mama!” You sit on her, as carefully as a butterfly perching on a flower and so that you remember to remain seated you cross your legs. The bus stops at the roadside. A swarm of men balancing baskets of gonja race towards it, covering the bus’ windows. Your mother buys ten fingers for two hundred shillings. They are yellow and soft, but crusted brown in some places. As your mother hands you one, its aroma fills your nostrils. You open your mouth to sink your teeth into it, but the gonja disappears! You start to ask your mother about it, but stop because she is not there anymore. Yet, you are still on the bus. You touch your chin and it is rough with a beard. You look down at your feet and they have grown so long. Your shorts are gone and you’re wearing trousers. “Vinnie, Vinnie ...” It’s Chantal’s sweet voice. But she sounds so far off...You let her voice get carried away in the loud swish of the speeding trees...And you still have to find your mother... You follow her through the narrow bus corridor and call out to her but she does not stop. You continue to follow her, until all the faces on the bus meld into a smooth blackness. But her bright gomesi creates a shining path for you and you keep going till you reach her and pull at it. But when she turns she is as still as stone and before you hear the villager mourners wail, “Woowe, Woowe”, you know there is not one breath left in her... “Maama, Maama...” “Vinnie, Vinnie! Wake up! It’s just a bad dream!” You open your eyes. Chantal is staring down at you. “You were dreaming,” she says. Her voice soothes you. She strokes your ear and says, “Good morning, love?” She heard you whimpering like a puppy in agony. You turn away, you don’t want her to see the fear in your eyes. But she snuggles close to you and you have no choice but to kiss her. She is weak and yielding and you are no longer the scared twelve year old boy staring at your mother’s lifeless body. The vibration of the telephone under your pillow tears you away from Chantal. Even as you pull away from her you wonder who could be calling you at six in the morning. Early morning calls usually convey very bad news. You wish the superstitious streak in you could be thwarted by reason. But your fingers tremble as you grip the cell phone. Quickly, you glance at the caller ID. It’s your father. At this time of the morning, what could be the matter?